Below the worn wooden stairs in a cupboard
Lays my past love, torn, alone and rotting.
Against a peeling wall, painted unloved eyes,
Deliver only stories of mould and childhood lies.
He sits forlorn in this broken home.
Below the worn wooden stairs in a cupboard,
Some of us were privileged enough to attend our leaders, Kevin Murphy’s, recent birthday bash, and what a lovely do it was too! (Excuse me if I just take a moment to thank Kevin’s wife, Diane, for providing us with such a scrumptious spread, it was amazing!) The event inspired this week’s prompt of
Of course, your piece doesn’t have to be about a birthday party, it can be about any ol’ sort, and I have to say I amazed myself with the number of options I came up with when I started thinking about it: Hen/stag parties; Christmas parties (office or otherwise!); party lines (I’m very old – I remember these!); partition walls; political parties (ooh very topical); oh and of course, shooting parties (just sayin’)! There are loads more too – who knew that ‘party’ was such a versatile word, and think of all the different settings you can give them.
As always it can be prose, poetry, flash fiction – anything you like.
Well, I’m off now to start writing, hope you do the same…. we’ll look forward to reading your work.
It’s a long time since I started probing
those dark inner spaces
like ‘what is life and has it meaning?’
Well, not much has changed.
But now it’s how these thoughts
might cross over, be put to use
in the life we have built together..
Every scar has a story.
Some scars are disfiguring, some may be unobtrusive, and some may be
hidden, but they all tell a story. There
are those scars that are perceived to enhance the wearer, but that is usually
because those observing them want to know the story.
Anyone who knows me will know that I have a scar that runs for about 3 inches down the left side of my face from the top of my cheekbone towards the corner of my mouth. My friends have often speculated about how I came to get this facial feature, but I have never told them the true story. My late wife knew the truth as she was there when I got it,
It’s half past nine on a Sunday morning.
Sitting on the steps beneath The Old
Market Cross, I’m waiting for you.
Little platoons of cars advance onto the
Pay and Display, squatting on the bleached
tarmac that was once a busy market square.
Here in Retford the rain this week has been pretty biblical with lots of flooding creating havoc locally. So this week, it seems appropriate to go with the prompt of
Use it any way you like – the obvious; flooded roads and fields, floods of tears, or the not so obvious; outpouring of words; flooded with relief… that sort of thing. I’m sure you can think up a few original and fun ways to use it! We look forward to reading your ideas.
Posted in Prompts
- Tagged Creative non-fiction, Creative writing, flood, flooding, poem, Poetry, prompt, retford writers group, short story, trigger, writing
Your leaving left a scar across
The landscape of my life,
When you changed from someone I know
Into someone that I once knew.
When I lost you I didn’t just lose a friend,
I lost a part of my identity,
I didn’t just lose a person,
I lost part of my history.
We lived through each-other’s hopes and fears
With love and anger in equal measure.
A million shared experiences,
Now I have no one to share them with.
You liked me despite knowing all my secrets,
And told me things I wouldn’t tell myself.
We knew too much about each-other
To ever consider betrayal.
Your world’s a lonelier place
When an old friend goes away.
They can’t be replaced by someone new,
You cannot replace time.
I go whistling past the graveyard
To drown the echo of your voice.
Your memory sits gently on my heart
And leaks out of my eyes in my tears.
You have left a scar that will not heal
It’s inside of me so no one else can see.
We promised that we wouldn’t grieve,
I couldn’t keep my part of that deal.